


Winter Veil Waltz

by Mythlorn



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FIx It, Fluff, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, sap, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythlorn/pseuds/Mythlorn
Summary: A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.





	1. Chapter 1

** Chapter One:  
**

      Khadgar stood, head tilted back into the softly falling snow. The moonlight caught his hair, turning it to quicksilver and painting his pale skin with a youthful radiance. How long he had been there was anyone's guess, but the accumulation of white had already filled the tracks his boots had left. If Varian didn't know better, he might have believed he had fallen from the sky.  
  
Then again, with a mage that was entirely possible.  
  
Atiesh was leaned against a nearby bench, and the park was completely silent. Winter Veil revelers were either home with their families, or enjoying the ball hosted in the great hall within the castle; but it seemed Khadgar and Varian both had different ideas.  
  
Few knew that snowflakes actually made a sound as they fell; a hushed whisper that soothed heartache, and eased grief. To Varian, that was worth more than all the revelry in the world. That, and the reminder to count his blessings. Specifically, the one that stood before him in the snow, searching the winter skies for something that had been lost long ago.  
  
The warrior let the crunch of snow beneath his winter boots announce his presence, though he needn't have worried about Khadgar, the mage already knew he was there. How, was beyond a mortal man, yet he did all the same. Varian said nothing, there were no words for this rare moment of peace and quiet; and as he slipped his arms around Khadgar's waist from behind, resting his stubbly chin against his broad shoulder, he noted the wispy trail of silver that frosted the air around the mage's lips. A sigh of content, of comfort … inaudible, but now indelible. Varian allowed himself a bittersweet smile, and Khadgar returned it, even though their eyes did not meet.  
  
For a time, they both looked up to the stars, seeking their own meaning as their heartbeats fell into time. Far away, a faint strain of music carried on the winter wind, and Varian could not help himself. “May I have this dance?” he asked warmly, nudging his cold nose against Khadgar's ear until the mage turned in his arms.  
  
“You know I can't dance,” Khadgar replied sadly.  
  
“I know you can,” Varian stated certainly, his tone daring argument.  
  
Khadgar snorted indignantly at that, “I cannot possibly … embarrassment to myself—” he muttered miserably, eyes downcast.  
  
“—You can,” the king interrupted smoothly, arranging one of the mage's gloved hands at his lower back, and the other he twined fingers with. It wasn't simple with thick gloves, but he couldn't help the boyish grin that crossed his face when they were finally in position.  
  
Khadgar was still protesting until Varian pressed his forehead to his; but once they were touching he quieted. “Slowly. Wait for it. Feel it ...” the king murmured. “There is no one here but us, and Stormwind,” The wind picked up again, the melody of a waltz carrying well past them and out into the harbor. The moon ducked behind a cloud, and then came back out again as a snowdrift crested a nearby bench, spraying them in a sparkling, chilly coil of diamond dust.  
  
“Now,” Varian said, laughter filling his voice as he stepped smoothly to the left … and Khadgar moved with him surprisingly easily; the mage's look of concern gradually giving way to joy when he realized his partner was graceful enough to make dancing _easy_. Varian had memorized the steps, so Khadgar didn't have to. The warrior's touch at the small of his back and grasp of his hand created a steady framework, and if the archmage just followed a push or a pull … it was effortless.  
  
Varian watched the delight fill inquisitive blue eyes when Khadgar realized he _could_ dance, and better yet, he wasn't as terrible as he had feared.  
  
Soon the two set their own rhythm, leaving a trail of dizzy footprints around their audience of statuary; Khadgar drowning in Varian, and the warrior thrilling at the physical challenge. When at last they came to halt, something silvery and wet ran down the archmage's face.  
  
“Please, never leave me,” Khadgar whispered hoarsely, love and pleading in those trusting eyes.  
  
Varian smiled again, this time more tenderly, his own blue eyes nearly black in the low light. “Your parents didn't know it, Khadgar, but when they gave you away to the Kirin Tor, they gave you to me. To Stormwind. To now. I know you've spent every Winter's Veil since you were given up thinking about what you could have had. I know you ache for what you've lost. What _we_ have lost. Which is why it pains me that I cannot promise you anything but this: while I draw breath, you will always have someone to dance with this eve. No matter what. I don't know how, but I will find a way. Stormwind is your home, and my heart is yours along with her.”  
  
When Khadgar kissed him, Varian let himself fall into the passion in the silent of the square. If this time never came again, he would treasure this memory dearly for all of eternity. It was the perfect way to end the year.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
 **A/N:** This is shortfic for once, can you believe it!? It's fun to do something a little less plot heavy. I promised this to someone, so here it is. I worked on it over the holidays but didn't have the ambition to post it until today. Next chapter soon  <3  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

** Chapter Two: ** **   
**

      “I still do not understand the charm,” the drake said, curling his lip and wrinkling his nose as he set his shot glass down.  
  
Anduin had to admit that he didn't, either; but it numbed his pain somewhat. “At least it's warming,” he sighed.  
  
“I am warmer,” Wrathion replied slyly—smirking mischievously as a claw tip tucked an unruly strand of blond hair behind Anduin's ear.  
  
The two of them had taken a break from the day's travails to warm up at the Gilded Rose. Well, Anduin specifically. Wrathion wasn't bothered by the weather.  
  
“That, you are,” Anduin murmured; taking another long swallow of his drink, grimacing.  
  
The snow had been coming down in spades, and it had decided to do so on Winter Veil—the day the young king had his first inspections of the barracks. Wrathion had come along for amusement's sake, or so it seemed, and Anduin? He couldn't feel his feet anymore. Smug dragons and their naturally high body temperatures could shove off.  
  
Anduin groaned inwardly. It was days like today that he missed his father more than ever. It wasn't that he lacked resolve. It wasn't that he didn't wake in Wrathion's arms every morning, and feel loved and safe. He had trustworthy friends, wonderful advisers, and a loyal, happy people. Varian Wrynn's legacy was an inspiring thing.  
  
And Anduin knew he would never be worthy of it.  
  
“My love,” Wrathion said, watching the downward tilt of Anduin's chin—the way he averted his gaze because his eyes were filling with tears—It hurt the drake to see his mate grieving like this. “I think you have had enough.” The dragon gently pushed aside the half-drunk glass of rum, leaning closer to press a kiss to Anduin's temple.  
  
“I've not had that much,” Anduin protested.  
  
“No, dearest. I think you have had enough of today. You did well. Come with me?”  
  
Wrathion rose from his bar stool, giving Anduin a knowing glance.    
  
The weary king wiped his face on his coat sleeve, pretending to blot away the snow melting from his hair—and followed suit; taking the hand offered to him with a bittersweet smile that did not quite reach his eyes.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asked innocently, trusting Wrathion in this, as he did in all things.  
  
“To visit your father,” the drake said matter-of-factly; putting gold down on the bar and grabbing the rest of the bottle of rum from where it rested.  
  
Anduin blinked in surprise. “I...”  
  
“You need him right now, and you haven't visited since they completed the memorial.”  
  
“Wrathion … I ...”  
  
“Little Lion, there are many things I do not know. There are far more that I do. Trust me. He can hear you.” The dragon tilted his head with a gentle smile. The private, tender smile he only gave Anduin. “Come."  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** This is shortfic. It's more like a glorified collection of drabbles that all string together. I hope you enjoy  <3 I promise we're getting somewhere :D  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Three:**  
  
       Khadgar stood, gaze turned up toward the statue of King Varian Wrynn. The Wolf of Stormwind. Lo'Gosh. His lover. His friend. The snow fell against the mage's wet face, and the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, turning tears to quicksilver. From the castle there came the faint tune of a waltz, and laughter; but that was not for him. Not this time. The world went on, the seasons turned, Azeroth was still beautiful … and Khadgar hurt.  
  
Khadgar was a Guardian, protest it though he might, but he was also one mortal man; a finite puzzle missing a corner piece.  
  
Closing his eyes he was free again, if only for a moment; thinking back to that Winter Veil night when Varian had taught him how to dance with _life_. He could remember every moment of that waltz as if the song had been scratched into his heart with a white hot nail. Something so beautiful shouldn't hurt so much, but that was the way of things. Still, he was swept up as a coil of diamond dust whipped across the shoulders of the sculpture above him, and with a surge of bittersweet _love_ he was free again.  
  
The crunch of tracking snow beneath their boots, the way the falling white had turned to adamant in Varian's dark eyelashes—it had sent a thrill along his spine. The smell of wet wool, frost, and the indefinable sensation of the equinox hung in the air along with the rise and fall of the music. Varian's breath was a coil of steam around their heads as the wind whipped away the sound of Khadgar's laughter, joyous and free. It had been the one time in his young-old existence when he had felt the life in himself clear to the tips of his toes—thumping in time to the beat of his heart; their hearts.  
  
But then the music had stopped. The music stopped. And Khadgar had to open his eyes again.  
  
Varian was stone now, as was the lead weight his heart had become. It wasn't beating anymore. How could it? It had ceased the moment the snow melted, wet and running down his face; frozen diamonds turning to ocean water. Fitting.  
  
He might have lost himself forever in the moment—or at least until his feet froze, or the dawn sun rose on a new year—but his grief was interrupted by the creak of footsteps.  
  
Turning, tired blue eyes met that of Anduin Wrynn's; and if the mage was frank, the young king looked just as haggard as Khadgar felt. At his side, Wrathion stood, and he tried to smile for both of them. The windows to his soul were as dim and empty as fogged glass, he knew it, and Anduin did too. He had no platitudes to make this easier for anyone; and luckily for him no one seemed to expect him to fix anything this time. This. _This_.  
  
No one could fix death, not even the gods.  
  
Together, the three of them turned as one, staring around at the statues ringing the courtyard; and not a word was spoken until Khadgar broke the silence, his voice trembling in the moment that hung fractured between them.  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
The question was rhetorical; still, Anduin answered.  
  
“I came here to pray, hoping that my father would hear me. I came here to seek his advice, because I am afraid.”  
  
Khadgar's expression softened, “Are you still afraid?” He asked, no judgment in his tone.  
  
Slowly, Anduin smiled; and the strain of a waltz floated through the air to hover between them—a sort of enormous, invisible presence. The young king's grin widened further as contagious quicksilver tracked down his face; an echo of Khadgar's ache. “No,” he answered simply.  
  
“No?” Khadgar queried, “Do you know some secret I do not?”  
  
At that, Anduin nodded, certain Khadgar could feel the gesture as much as he saw it through the moonlight brimming in his eyes. “I do.”  
  
“And what is that?”  
  
“Just dance,” Anduin stated, laughing softly.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Khadgar asked quietly, taken aback.  
  
“Just dance. Now. Here. While you can, and no matter how much it hurts.”  
  
Khadgar stared at Anduin as the snow swirled around him, those cerulean eyes the same shade as his father's, golden hair tangling long and unkempt in the wind; and between one heartbeat and the next, he found himself with one hand at the young king's waist, and the other at his shoulder.  
  
The smell of wet wool and frost washed over him, Anduin's warmth a stark contrast to where snow had melted during his contemplation; and even though he was unprepared for it, the music came, floating on the wind as Anduin led him on a merry circuit of the courtyard. The boy was even good enough to let Khadgar rest his cheek against his shoulder for a few more torpid strains—until the pace quickened, and the mage finally fully fell into step, feeling a joy, a lifting of loneliness that he could not express. And he laughed. The laughter went from his heart to his toes, and rang out defiantly against his grief and the cold stone above him. They danced until the moon came out from behind a cloud again, and Anduin whispered into his ear:  
  
“I always keep my promises.”  
  
Wrathion cut in, then, and Khadgar had no time to reply—which was good, because he was speechless, staring at Anduin like he had seen a ghost—and maybe he had; but there was no time for further thought when he should be dancing. Wrathion took full advantage of that, while buying Anduin the time to press his glove-clad hand to his father's monument. a smile of thanks turning up the corners of his mouth.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** Excuse the existential sounds of suffering I am making. Oh my god. This is one of those times when you write something and manage to traumatize yourself with it. I'mma go make it better now.  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Four:**  
  
“Varian!”  
  
He groaned and shook his head, only serving to make himself dizzier.  
  
“Varian!”  
  
He took a ragged breath, pain lancing through his sides and shoulders, his chest a raging conflagration of fel-burn and rampant fire.  
  
“ _Varian_!”  
  
A warm mouth was on his own, swallowing his pain, tasting of tears and desperation. “Thank the Light I have found you, Varian.”  
  
The warrior struggled to open his eyes, lips moving feebly against the ones that were sobbing his name. Stiff, swollen hands came up to stroke through silver that he could barely feel; but recalled was sleeker than silk.  
  
“Khad—”  
  
“—Light take you Varian Wrynn, how could you do this to me?!”  
  
Khadgar was crying and yelling simultaneously, and Varian wanted to ask him if he could keep it down a little. His head hurt, and he yelped in bewilderment when Khadgar punched his gloved fist directly into his breastplate; there was one hell of a burn underneath of it.  
  
“Stop hitting me,” Varian pleaded; and rolling onto his side, he felt the mage's arms wrap around his waist to help lever him upright. “I already feel like Gul'dan rammed me with an airship.”  
  
“You will feel like he flew one up your—when I'm through with you, you stubborn, pig headed, asinine … ooooh you are such a Lothar!” Khadgar was waving his free arm in between checking Varian's injuries. “Damn every last one of your kin, so help me you will be the death of me! You're certainly the death of yourselves, at any rate.”  
  
“Why are you crying, Khadgar? What has happ—”  
  
“—You've been dead for two years! Except … we never found your body and I was not convinced, and wherever _here_ is … it seems it's only been a matter of an hour that's passed for you.”  
  
“Dead? If I'm dead, does that mean you're dead, too?” Varian asked. He'd taken a fairly hefty hit to the head and nothing felt real.  
  
“No time! Can this little chat happen on the _other_ side of the portal, please?” Wrathion's voice carried, cultured yet strained, from the direction of a green glow.  
  
“Dad?!” Anduin's cry echoed as if it was coming through a vast tunnel, surprisingly loud in the wasteland that Varian found himself crumpled in.  
  
“He didn't kill you, he threw you through a demonic wormhole and hoped that would do the trick,” Khadgar said, shouldering up under Varian's considerable weight as he helped him to his feet.  
  
“Anduin, stay here with me, if the portal destabilizes ...” Wrathion's voice sounded panicked, but through the portal Anduin charged—nearly colliding with Varian and Khadgar. The boy's blue eyes were wide with surprise, and as wet with tears as Khadgar's, but unlike the mage he wasn't taking his time. He threw his father's other arm around his shoulder, helping Khadgar limp him toward the portal.  
  
“How did you find me?” Varian asked; head still swimming from everything that had happened, and the loss of blood. Anduin was already healing him as the two dragged him back through the portal, protesting.  
  
When they emerged on the other side, all the young king did was gesture with the compass Varian had left him; and Wrathion closed the waypoint he was holding open before he scrambled to help lay the big warrior down. This time, on the hard brick of Stormwind's keep.  
  
“Clever lads,” Varian murmured before he lost consciousness, and Anduin put every healing skill he had into closing his father's wounds.   
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** I feel like this chapter is richly deserved by all of us in light of Chapter Three. Yw  <3  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Five:**  
  
       Khadgar watched the three most important men in his life, sleep. Wrathion was curled against Varian's side in whelp form, pointed muzzle resting on a shoulder blade. Anduin was knelt on the floor beside the bed, hand still spread in the middle of his father's bare back, head pillowed on one arm which was nudged into the curve of Varian's neck.   
  
The mage smiled.   
  
Varian was still beautiful, even ashen from injury and bandaged. He'd seen many a Wrynn and Lothar in this state: tunicless and bent, but unbroken. He counted himself among the privileged to do so again, because it meant there was still hope—and that he wasn't putting someone else he loved in the ground. The relief stung through his veins every time he took in the trio before him, and slowly he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.  
  
The wounds had been deep and taken much effort to heal; truth be told Anduin had fallen asleep several times between his attempts to mend his sire's fel burns. Khadgar had been out of his league when it came to healing magics, and while all of Stormwind awaited the prophet Velen's arrival, Khadgar had brought Anduin mana potions and anything else that he had needed. The other priests had tried time and again to switch out with their king, but Anduin had waved them off. His determination was admirable, and Khadgar had understood that this was something the boy needed to do—young man, he corrected himself.  
  
Draping his cloak over Anduin's shoulders, Khadgar sat to the side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, but no one present stirred. Wrathion's nostril's fluttered, and one ruby eye opened briefly to reveal a milky third eyelid; but the drake recognized Khadgar's presence and dropped back off immediately. There was a sense of safety in the room, of healing that extended far beyond a priest's abilities, and Khadgar could have wept for it. Instead he reached out to stroke a gentle hand over the curve of Varian's head, teasing his fingertips through that long ponytail to admire the silver streaks trailing amongst chestnut. The tears he had thought banished welled up despite his best efforts, and within a heartbeat he was blinded by them.  
  
Shoulders shaking, he bowed his forehead to the top of Varian's head. He kissed there once, then again, pausing, lips pressed to tresses that still smelled powerfully of fel and dust. Beneath the stench of demon was the scent that Khadgar was more familiar with: Varian's scent. He still had one of the warrior's tunics tucked into the back of his trunk within his chambers. In the ensuing years after Varian's disappearance, he had often held it in the dead of night, breathing in what he had considered forever lost. He had never been happier than the moment it had occurred to him that he needed to give it back.   
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** I'm sorry, I know I'm giving you guys snippets. I'm trying to get my confidence back. Between fighting with PTSD symptoms and dealing with college, which is wrecking my self-esteem as an artist and a writer .... I'm fighting it, and I'm winning. So here you go. Have something I'm publicly sharing. I can do this. I don't have to hide my writing away like I've been doing for weeks now. I love this fiction because it's low stress, I don't have to have a massive plot. You guys seem to enjoy the snippets, and I can give those without feeling like I'm going to collapse under all the pressure. -flings drabbles around gleefully-  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Six:**  
  
        Varian cracked his eyes open with great difficulty—and trying to lift his head he found it nearly impossible. A long swathe of blond ponytail obscured his vision. “Tiffin?” he slurred in confusion.  
  
“Far from it, though I must admit he takes after her at times.”  
  
Varian grunted, blinking groggily. That was …. “Khadgar?” He asked.  
  
“Correct,” the mage laughed, although his voice sounded thick, as if he had been crying.  
  
The moment Varian's sleep-weary eyes allowed him to focus, he realized that Anduin was curled up beside him, kneeling on the flagstone floor and half-lopped over the bed. The warrior's brows turned down as his expression softened. His son had grown so much. It was not a boy, but a young man who slept steadfastly beside him. With time he had finally put on muscle, and the fine smattering of blond stubble on his chin left his sire shaking his head in wonder. Even his hair had grown—as long and wild as Varian's ever had been. A king. Anduin … was high king. The warrior's heart swelled with love and pride.  
  
There was also warmth and weight against Varian's flank, and a glance towards his side revealed Wrathion's draconic form. The drake had matured substantially, and his scaly chin had found its way into the sway of Varian's lower back. A wing was keeping the warrior's legs and feet cozy; and a long, inky tail had fallen from the mattress to the floor, coiling around Anduin's ankle possessively.  
  
“Amazing, isn't it?” Khadgar asked.  
  
Varian could feel the familiar brush of the archmage's robes against his bare skin, as well as the catch of feathers from cowl against his bandages; and when Khadgar helped him sit up, he finally tore his gaze away from his son and his mate to turn to the mage. His lover's eyes were red from tears, and he looked pale and drawn, as if a crushing weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. Varian wanted to say something, anything, but words escaped him.  
  
For an instant, Wrathion stirred at being dislodged and Varian's attention flickered to him—but the dragon did not wake, resettling himself instead. Thus, the warrior focused on his lover once more.  
  
“Please don't be a dream,” Khadgar pleaded, expression breathless and full of tremulous hope; and then his lips were on Varian's. Demanding. Needy. And the warrior met him with equal fervor, even if the time apart had not seemed so long to him.  
  
The hair that Varian ran his fingertips through as they kissed was grayer—though the warrior's heart still stuttered the moment Khadgar's lips pressed to his, just as it always did. He didn't care. Not in the slightest. Khadgar was his, and he would love him until his last breath and beyond.

“Don't you dare leave me again, Varian Wrynn! Don't you dare!” Khadgar hissed between their mouths, his hands seeking some kind of purchase against Varian's bare skin and finding it in bandages. Varian took in a sharp breath in reply, but that was more out of pain than anything. Anduin hadn't been able to completely heal everything, it seemed.  
  
“Hmm. I am not dissuaded so easily,” he rumbled once Khadgar finally found the purchase he needed.  
  
“How can you be so calm? Don't you understand? You left us! You left me!” Khadgar was still pouring out his grief, even if he was no longer crying, and Varian accepted it. The hurt, the rage, the longing. All of it.  
  
“I am sorry, Khadgar … I am so sorry,” Varian whispered thickly. “I am here now. I am here, and I will put it right.” And weakened as he was, it was the warrior who held his guardian when Khadgar fell to his shoulder, shaking with silent sobs.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** So midterms absolutely flattened me, but I'm crawling back out of the hole. As usual, another short chapter, but packed with feels. It was nice to do some writing for fandom for a few (Always Avoid Alliteration, wot?). Hope you enjoy :) and thanks for reading~  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Seven:**  
  
       “Father?” Anduin whispered, finally clawing his way upright. Khadgar's motion had jostled the bed beneath the young king's head, waking him.   
  
“I'm here, Son. Right here.”   
  
“Oh,” Anduin murmured witlessly in reply. Sitting up straighter from his position on the floor he tilted his chin to better see over the mattress. He should have expected what met his blurry gaze, but he was groggy and his head was pounding from his healing efforts. He had seen Khadgar cry once after he had broken the news to him. After that, never again; though he had his suspicions—and there had been some nights the two of them had dozed in the main hall by the fire, side by side on one of the couches as neither could sleep for their grief. They didn't talk about those nights. Sometimes Genn had even stalked down to curl around Anduin protectively and doze, or Tess had sat up at all hours reading to him. Them. They had all missed Varian. They had all needed him; and Anduin felt as if he hadn't done nearly enough to ease their pain or step into his sire's shoes. He felt like a failure in so many ways, and he had scarcely been able to help himself.  
  
Khadgar's shoulders were shaking where he clung to Varian, and suddenly, Anduin felt as if he had no right to be there. He couldn't move, though. Wrathion was mostly draped over _him_ now that his father had sat up. He wanted to say something, anything. To throw his arms around Varian again. Instead, he averted his gaze apologetically. There was more to this world than what he needed, and he wasn't a child anymore.  
  
The young king felt the brush of hot dragon breath against his cheek, and turning his head he caught Wrathion mid cavernous yawn. Row upon row of glittering fangs appeared in the low light before the drake shook his head—slithering forward on the bed to nudge his snout against Anduin's arm until he raised it and slipped it around his neck.   
  
Ruby eyes blinked appraisingly in the gloam of Varian's quarters, and they took in Anduin's expression knowingly.   
  
“Go on,” Wrathion murmured, voice a low growl in the otherwise quiet.   
  
Anduin shook his head, turning on his hip to lean his back against the bed; letting the two lovers have privacy. He was embarrassed that he had even called out for his father, and he rubbed his aching knees. He shouldn't have slept like that on the cold stone. His bones had healed since the incident with the bell, but they had never been the same. Growing had been agony, and now that it was through he found that Velen was correct. His body would never forget what had been done to it.   
  
“No, not now,” Anduin bit out.   
  
“ _Yes_ , now,” Wrathion shot back, the tail that had been coiled around Anduin's ankle curling around his waist to tug him up toward the bed. It wasn't exactly prehensile, but the young drake could use it as a support as well as a flail in close combat. Anduin had seen him do both things before, so it wasn't exactly a surprise.   
  
“I … I don't, I cannot ...” Anduin's hand tugged at that scaly, muscular band that was wrapped around him, trying to push it away, to protest without drawing attention. But it was too late.   
  
“Anduin, you need this. Have I ever been wrong when I tell you that?” Wrathion clearly wasn't going to put up with Anduin's sullen protests.   
  
Varian pushed back from Khadgar after a moment, and he and the mage shared a glance before Khadgar nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.   
  
“Anduin,” Varian called, voice quavering as he held his arm out unsteadily.  
  
“No. This isn't real. It's a dream, and when I wake up, you won't be here,” Anduin grit out, his heart feeling like it might pound itself free of his chest. He was breathing hard, the muscles of jaw and neck working as he tried not to cry. He couldn't look behind him and see that familiar, scarred face; it would break him.   
  
“Dear One, you aren't dreaming. I promise you, you are very much awake,” Wrathion pleaded, nudging against his mate.  
  
Anduin almost said something sharp in return, but Wrathion struck lightning fast, nipping his forearm. Blood welled from the mark and Anduin grunted, reaching down to cover the bite mark.   
  
“Why?” Anduin demanded, turning to give Wrathion a reproachful look.   
  
The drake's face was ancient and still—like that of an expectant crocolisk. “If you bleed and feel pain, it is not a dream.”   
  
“You're a bastard,” Anduin growled, but tears had begun to leak down his high cheekbones, soaking his lashes and blinding him in the candlelight.   
  
“Anduin. I am real. This is real. It is over, I swear it,” Varian murmured. His voice was choked with pain. “Please, Son, come here.”  
  
Anduin gave Wrathion a look, promising himself that if this was a dream and he woke in tears yet again, he was going to scream on principle. He then shakily pushed himself to his feet, bracing against the mattress as he rose. This was real. It felt real. Could it _be_?  
  
Wrathion moved over to make a place for him, and Khadgar held his arm out as well. Despite the kaleidoscope of blinding light and color in his eyes, Anduin could still focus on his father's blue gaze. It was steady, and longing, and worried. Slowly, hesitantly—the exhausted priest slid his arm around those broad shoulders, mindful of bandages as he finally rested his head. The spot he pressed his cheek was still wet with Khadgar's tears, and his hands shook where they buried into thick, chestnut hair. The scent was right, his father's … always the same. Leather, steel polish, something indefinably spicy, like cinnamon and earthy like ash. This was real. This was _real_.   
  
“Light!” Anduin sobbed, going limp when he felt Khadgar's arm close around him as well; shivering as Wrathion settled to the bed in such a way that he could wrap all three of them in the curve of a protective wing. The weight of years apart finally left Anduin's shoulders, and he was light headed with the relief.  
  
“I'm here, Son. I am so proud of you. So proud. What a fine man, fine _king_ you have become.” Varian pressed kisses into that golden hair, and Anduin cried until he was hoarse, shaking as Khadgar helped support him, too.   
  
“I told you so,” Wrathion purred—ruby eyes closing in content after meeting Anduin's over Varian's shoulder.   
  
“Bite me,” Anduin choked out.  
  
“Already did.” The drake chuckled.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** A little more for you folks  <3 Because.   
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Eight:  
  
**        Wrathion studied Anduin from beneath lowered lashes. Those who didn't know him might think the gesture sly, but it was not. It was concerned. In one clawed hand, he held a flask, and the other was stroking the back of Anduin's arm with scaled knuckles. They were perched on the edge of the bed they shared, but it seemed there would be little peace tonight—which wasn't entirely unexpected.  
  
“I'm _fine_ ,” Anduin grouched.  
  
“No, you are not,” Wrathion shot back, tone laced with rarely expressed worry.  
  
The drake's broadening shoulders were hunched defensively, already sensing that it was going to be a fight to get his mate to do something, anything, without having to be tricked or goaded. Contrary to popular opinion, the dragon didn't enjoy doing such things to Anduin. It was true he had relished the banter and discourse they shared when Anduin was well; but that had been years ago. The dark, drowning sea that Stormwind's heir had fallen into after his father's alleged death had changed him forever, and Wrathion had held on because he loved him beyond reason. Still, it was a relief to know that healing was coming. Varian had been returned to them—although Wrathion would have had to be blind to miss the canyon of grief and pain yawning unbridged between father and son. Varian had no idea how many nights his son lay awake, tortured by what he didn't know and perceived he couldn't put right.  
  
“The potion will help your head.”  
  
“My head is fine.”  
  
“I beg to differ, that is why we are sitting here in the dark. I am a dragon, and I enjoy a warm, cozy cave … but this is not how I wish to spend the evening with you.  
  
“It's not all about you, and what you want!” Anduin growled.  
  
“It's about _you,_ Anduin. I understand, I do, and all this time, you haven't cried out once. Dearest One, if you do not, then how will others know you need help?”  
  
Anduin rose from the bed, pulling away from Wrathion's touch to pace. He had no idea how much he reminded the dragon of his father at times, but the drake wisely said nothing. About the limp, about the way Anduin rubbed his temple and bowed his head, hiding behind his bangs like a wounded lion behind scrub.  
  
“My father is alive and safe, so why does it feel like everything has gone straight to hell!” Anduin finally exclaimed, flames of his temper rising.  
  
Even a dragon knew when to stand back so as not to be burned; it was a Wrynn trait to hurt those they loved far worse than their enemies. Wrathion knew this anger was not for him, though. It was anchored in pain and perceived failure. Grief. Long-suffering and patiently borne until this moment—Anduin had tried for so long to smile instead of scream, to not feel hurt, fear, or anger; to be quiet and pleasant, to protect and search for peace instead of vengeance. But a man, no matter how good intentioned, could only manage so much for so long. The emotional wound had been lanced the moment Varian's arms had wrapped around his son, and now it had to drain before it could heal.  
  
A moment later, Anduin's legs buckled and he slid to the floor onto his hands and knees. He sobbed silently, the motion making him look like he was retching, but he was not.  
  
“You have done so well, Anduin. You are so strong. Let it come, My Love.”  
  
“No! I don't deserve this! I have to be stronger! It's not enough! I should have done more, I should have searched _sooner_!” Anduin's voice broke and he punched the stone floor in a fit of rage—then clutched his fist to his chest with a snarl of frustration and pain. “Light!” He exclaimed in outrage, the word ripped from his throat like a scream. Approaching with the grace of a dancer, Wrathion sank to his knees in front of Anduin. His clawed hand trailing up the clutched arm to still it.  
  
“It _is_ enough, Anduin. You are enough for me, and your people. What happened to your sire was not your fault, and you have nothing to make up to anyone. He doesn't blame you, Khadgar doesn't. No one blames you.” Wrathion set the potion he held aside. “You healed your father's hurts, and ruled well in his absence. You did everything a father should be proud of.”  
  
“ _I_ blame me!” Anduin shouted to the floor, tears running down his face to join the drops of blood on the concrete.  
  
“I know, Lovely One, I know you do,” Wrathion crooned, slowly rocking Anduin closer until he could bury his face into his chest. His mate ceased struggling. “It's time to stop now. It's time to let go.” The sobs that wracked Anduin were ugly and broken, but Wrathion didn't flinch away. “It will get better. It is time for it to. Have a potion, and come to bed.” He felt the spasm of injured muscles in Anduin's arm. When the bell had fallen, this had been the worst wounded place. Ramming it into the floor had not helped anything, but Anduin knew that, too. “Come to bed, Beloved. Come to bed.”  
  
“I don't deserve it,” Anduin grit out into the soft white fabric of Wrathion's tunic. “I don't deserve you, either.”  
  
“Anduin, you deserve good things. You are good enough. You are a good king, a good son, a good man ... and a good husband. Look at me, Anduin. Please?”  
  
Wrathion tilted his mate's chin up, lifting him from the depths of fabric until their gazes tripped over one another. Red-rimmed blue met ruby. “You are the most precious thing in this world to me. If that is not enough for you, I do not know what will be. I know it hurts, but the past is done. Tomorrow a new day dawns, and Stormwind will begin to mend at last. Tonight, so do you.”  
  
Gently releasing Anduin's chin, he drew that bleeding hand to his lips. He kissed first, and then tenderly drew his tongue over the bleeding scrapes—Dragon saliva disinfected and promoted clotting and healing. Anduin was gasping roughly, unable to breathe through his nose for his crying jag; but Wrathion still thought he was perfect, and lovingly he pulled away long enough to kiss his forehead, and hand him the potion.  
  
The elixir was for healing, and restoring mana, and it was the strongest kind that gold could buy. Wrathion kept them around, because loving a Wrynn involved knowing how to provide emergency care. Thankfully, Anduin didn't resist the matter further, he simply used his teeth to uncork the potion before downing it, grimacing.  
  
“Come to bed,” Wrathion instructed again, guiding an emotion-drunk Anduin to his feet. The young king staggered, but he let Wrathion sit him to the edge of the bed, pry off his boots, and then ease him back to the blankets. “It has been a long day, Beloved.”  
  
Anduin's tears hadn't really stopped since his father's return. Oh, certainly they had while he had worked to heal him; Anduin had been nothing but pure, unemotional, and determined concentration. He hadn't wept a day since the funeral that had been held over an empty casket, either. But now, the floodgates had finally broken, and the old Anduin he knew and loved was waiting to resurface. It hurt him to see his mate weep, but if it brought him healing, if it restored him—Wrathion would suffer it.  
  
“This will get better?” Anduin pleaded, his voice almost childlike.  
  
Wrathion quickly disrobed down to undertunic and small-clothes, crawling into bed and taking his mate into his arms. “It will get better,” he promised.  
  
“Sorry,” Anduin whispered hoarsely, eyes already half-lidded in exhaustion; temper extinguished as quickly as it had come. “I Love you.”  
  
“I know, Dearest, I know. I never doubted you.”  
  
“Stay?”  
  
“I promised you forever, Anduin Wrynn. When a dragon makes a promise, they intend to keep it.”  
  
“I'll bear that in mind,” Anduin said, voice stuffy as his tears tapered off.  
  
“Sleep, and in the morning, it will all seem much brighter.” Wrathion stroked a claw down an emotion- flushed cheekbone, and Anduin gave him that little-boy smile that was just for him. It was moments like these that the dragon lived for, and would never betray. “Sleep.”  
  
“Okay,” Anduin hummed, finding comfort in Wrathion's heartbeat as he cuddled closer—the potion had already done its work.  
  
“I will be here when you wake,” Wrathion murmured to the silence, his own eyes filling with tears of relief.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** It wasn't happy, frankly, it was really raw. Yet I'm pleased with it. I love a happy, sunshiney Anduin as much as the next guy; but Anduin is also a man, who is a Wrynn/Lothar, who has his own subscriptions to plenty of issues. Could I have done better in his shoes? Oh Hell no. I guess I just wanted to explore this direction a little. Forgive me  >.> Or not!~ Either way, I wrote something.  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine:**  
  
       Varian stood in front of the mirror, one battle-scarred hand tracing the mark the fel had left upon him. He had many such places on his body, but this one was different, and it always would be. Tilting his head back against Khadgar's shoulder, he closed his eyes as the mage's fingertips caressed where his had. The acceptance in them was comforting.  
  
“Velen did a wonderful job, Varian. You are well on your way to healing, and I doubt it will trouble you much in the future.” Khadgar brushed aside unruly chestnut locks to place a tender kiss to the nape of the warrior's neck, stepping closer until they pressed belly to back.  
  
“This is the first time I have been touched by the fel. I know it is not so for you. Can it harm you?” Varian asked, still feeling vulnerable as he stood in front of the mirror in nothing but his breeches. Already he was debating how much care he and Khadgar should take when they were together. Velen had healed the corruption, but had warned that those who had dealings with fel would still see the mark indelibly. The king had his concerns.  
  
Khadgar laughed gently as he turned Varian to face him; both hands finding his waist—thumbs twining through belt loops before pulling their hips flush. “Varian, I sometimes believe you think too much, especially for a warrior. And the worrying never does seem to end. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, though.”  
  
Varian resolutely tipped his chin back down, opened his eyes, then canted his head; and for a moment a devilish smile quirked up the corner of his mouth. Stroking his chin, the rasp of stubble was loud in the relative silence of his quarters, and he allowed himself a laugh—a bark of sound that was absolutely as arrogant as he intended it to be.  
  
“Hah. First it's 'did you think about that, Varian, even a little?' then 'you think too much, Varian!' So which is it?” The warrior demanded as his fingertips found the softness around Khadgar's hips and belly—and tickled without mercy.  
  
Khadgar couldn't even complain his treatment, because a moment later he was alternating between pleading for clemency and whooping with laughter; and soon enough the two of them collapsed to Varian's bed in a tangle. While the warrior had a sense of dignity about him at all times, the mage often forgot that there was a playful streak in him. Usually it was endearing … and sometimes infuriating. In the moment, it was the former. Out of breath, Khadgar shook his head.“I'm learning to love the dichotomy?” He offered, arms now firmly around Varian's waist. This was exactly where he had hoped to be, and who he had hoped to be with. “Light, I missed you, Varian,” Khadgar breathed just before his lips found the king's.  
  
~*~  
  
       There had been a brief pause to locate the oil, and some creative wriggling to work their way out of the rest of their clothing, but then Varian was between Khadgar's thighs. The king was talented with his tongue, and Khadgar could have appreciated his ministrations all day—but what he wanted was to be one, and quickly. Varian sensed this. Then again, Khadgar had a handful of that long chestnut hair and was pulling impatiently. This earned him a few words from the warrior that ranged the gamut from 'impatient' to 'scoundrel', but it was hard to decipher because there was a great deal of urgent motion between them.  
  
Khadgar kept sobbing, his hands seeking purchase almost blindly; and even as he tried to move things along, he was also hampering Varian's plans. In the end, the warrior had flipped the overwrought mage over onto his belly, slicked himself, and taken him. It only hurt because Khadgar had refused to be still long enough for preparation of any length; but that was exactly how he wanted it. He wanted to remember this for days after, and he never wanted to forget how it felt again.  
  
The first thrust was long and searching, rocking Khadgar's hips down into the mattress while pressing him close enough to the headboard that he had to spread his fingers to keep from hitting his head—and he moaned in relief. Above him, he could feel the silent rumble of appreciation from Varian. The warrior was resting his forehead on the back of Khadgar's shoulder blade, muscles trembling from exertion. This was the most exercise he had since his injury, and his body was still recovering; but it didn't dampen a single part of the experience.  
  
Varian was a passionate lover, yet he was also tender. Each motion sought out that place within if he could reach it, and he listened second to none. Each gasp, each sob—he knew what wrought it. With military precision he had learned Khadgar's body, and every thrust thereafter reminded the mage.  
  
But the most beautiful part of the pleasure between them was when Varian drew close to completion. The man had no idea he did it, but he would whimper softly in Khadgar's ear just before he spilled. It was that sound that reminded the mage how much trust the warrior gifted him. It still amazed him that someone so powerful was also so intentionally undefended. Khadgar never felt worthy, and it never failed to take his breath. More times than not, that was also what had tipped the mage over the edge. Today was no exception.  
  
Fists tangled in the sheets and biting his lip to hold back his cries, Khadgar trembled on the edge. Then, Varian whimpered for him and spent himself, and Khadgar gasped to him in return, saying his name over and over until he buried his face into the pillows and lost himself as well.  
  
When the sweat began to cool between them, and they lay collapsed against the soft down of the mattress, he felt Varian's strong thumb tracing his ribs. “Stay inside a little longer?” Khadgar pleaded hoarsely.  
  
Varian nodded, his stubble teasing the groove of Khadgar's spine as they caught their breath.  
  
This. This was how it was meant to be. This was what had been missing for so long. Khadgar's right hand unwound from the sheets as he felt Varian's slip over the top and lace their fingers together, “I love you,” he whispered in the silence that followed.  
  
“I never doubted for an instant,” Varian replied, pressing a kiss to Khadgar's temple.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** :) Because you have all been waiting so patiently. I hope you enjoy~  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Winter Veil promise is made ... and kept.

**Chapter Ten:**  
  
       Anduin tilted his head back against Wrathion's broad shoulder, a broken moan leaving his lips. Clasping the headboard of his bed, he let his weight fall back into his mate's thrusts as the dull ache of longing in his chest finally came to an end. _Light_. How long had it been? Their lovemaking had been frequent at the start of their relationship, inexperienced and fumbling at first; then light and playful, or as passionate as the heated blood of a black dragon could be without hurting a human lover.   
  
Then Anduin had lost it. Them. Himself.   
  
He had blamed grief over his father's fate, and the weight of leadership, but that was not the whole explanation. His expectations of himself had crushed him. He had stopped caring for his own needs, let alone Wrathion's—and by all rights, Anduin _should_ have lost him, too. Dragons could take more than one mate, and certainly Wrathion would take another when Anduin's time was through. They had so few days, really. A handful of years, and Anduin had utterly wasted several of them.   
  
Yet here Wrathion was, still. The drake had promised him that he would never run again. That he was here to stay, no matter what. And stay he had.   
  
Clawed hands trailed up along the groove of hips to belly, pausing there to support as a particularly accurate thrust wrung a needy cry from Anduin; and reaching back over his shoulder, the young king's hand slid up the nape of neck through long, sleek curls to tangle and fist. He remembered when Wrathion's horns had just been buds, and his hair so short he could scarcely tug his fingers through it. That felt like centuries ago, when it had only been a matter of years. They had been so young.   
  
“That's it,” Wrathion purred, a low, clicking rumble echoing in a chest that was now far more muscular than Anduin's. “Stop thinking, Beloved. Stop thinking and be mine, Dearest. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment to come again.”   
  
The dragon's voice was trembling with emotion, and Anduin's heart went out to him. This surfacing, this gasp for air, and emotion, and _life_ … it had been a long time coming, and everything was sweeter and more desperate for it. “Don't stop,” he whispered, feeling the slight stutter of hips that were searching but gentle. His body had all but forgotten what this was like, but Wrathion hadn't. How could he? He was the most tactile being Anduin knew.   
  
Wrathion could put his hands on anything. A spell, a book, a map, and learn it—as if touch could bridge the gap of time itself, and overpower every doubt. And maybe it could and had. Perhaps after all these years, that was the magic that grew to be uniquely Wrathion's as an Aspect. And regardless, Anduin found himself believing in the dragon's gift with all his might.   
  
Spreading his knees to change the angle, the young king finally let himself go. The fall was effortless, his heart remembering the rhythm between them as Wrathion plunged into him time and again, wringing moans from him that were loud enough to echo off the chamber walls. But what surprised him was the way the dragon's voice was twining with his. At first moans shuddered in counterpoint, soft gasps or sighs accenting each utterance—though gradually it occurred that his mate was speaking; nay, begging him so sweetly, each word a prayer that could move mountains with its sincerity.   
  
“Please, I need this. Please be here, Anduin, please … I need you. Let me in, please let me in. I love you. I need you ...”   
  
It was a mantra, and it broke Anduin as surely as his body surged with pleasure. He was close, so close. His toes curled into the sheets as he allowed Wrathion to wrest him from the headboard and push him forward onto his belly, taking harder, faster. It was too much and not enough all at once—and as he felt his climax creeping up on him, he also felt the bond between them stir. Said connection had formed the first time they had made love, and had been a constant comfort in the times they were apart thereafter. But then Anduin had closed it off. He had let his faith in the Light, in goodness and hope slowly fade. And with it, so had the magic between himself and Wrathion. But in this moment, as Wrathion roared for him, the sound purely draconic as his almost-too-hot seed spilled deep inside, that bond arose like a phoenix.   
  
Vaguely, he was aware of Wrathion chanting his name over and over as he rocked to a halt; as Anduin ground into the sheets, pulsing wetly out over a hand that had somehow sought beneath his hips before the end. And in that end, a new beginning. Anduin could feel the triumph through their union, feel his heartbeat falling into time with Wrathion's as the loneliness that had all but devoured him—them—faded away. This. This. At last. He was not drowning, but lying beneath a warm spring rain, watering parched soil. And all things watered would grow.  
  
“I love you,” Anduin rasped, shaking so hard he could scarcely form the words.   
  
Collapsed above him, Wrathion was no better. “Forever, Anduin Wrynn. I am yours forever.”   
  
Outside the walls of the keep, a Winter Veil waltz began to play, the faint strains carrying on the winter wind. Below the lovers, Stormwind celebrated the return of Varian Wrynn, and his very joyous and drunken proposal to Khadgar of the Kirin Tor.   
  
It might have been winter, but life was bursting into bloom beneath the ice. The thaw had begun early, and somewhere, twined in the Light and the passionate love of a black dragon, Anduin Wrynn took his first animate breath since setting foot in Pandaria long ago.   
  
“Forever. With all I am,” Anduin replied, eyes closing as Wrathion's hot breath caressed the shell of his ear.   
  
“My Anduin,” Wrathion whispered reverently, twining closer as he sighed out in relief, snuggling into the familiar cut and curve of his mate's body.   
  
On the desk beside them, there was the melodious clink of melting ice in the two abandoned glasses of rum, and the ringing of the chapel bells announced the lifting of the winter veil.  
  
~*~  
FINI  
~*~  
  
  
 **A/N:** Thank you all for a lovely journey. I believe this is a good place to end ... for now. I am sure there will be Epilogues and spin offs, but for the time being this felt like a natural conclusion. As always, thank you for reading, and for walking this path with me. This spanned nearly an entire year, didn't it? It was a good year, in the end. All my love. - Kale  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



End file.
